


all the love we had and lost

by miss_minnelli



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, Divorced Aziraphale and Crowley, F/F, Getting Back Together, Grief, Healing, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Pining, Sharing a Bed, but the child doesn't die, loss of a child
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28532427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_minnelli/pseuds/miss_minnelli
Summary: “The oak, in the back garden? It’s taller than the house now,” said Crowley.Aziraphale tried valiantly to avoid thinking about Crowley still living alone in their old cottage, but failed miserably. Unwisely, she let herself wonder if Crowley had had the courage to dismantle the nursery and sell the bassinet.-When Crowley and Aziraphale cross paths again, seven years after their divorce, unresolved feelings of grief and love are uncovered. Feat. bed sharing, pining, awkward moments, and an uncomfortable conversation on the side of the motorway.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovely reader! This is going to be a multi-chapter fic, and I've got a lot of plans for these two. 
> 
> If you'd like more information on the Loss of a Child tag, please see the end notes. 
> 
> Thanks to chamyl and LeilaKalomi for the beta! 
> 
> Title is from Lorde's Supercut.
> 
> I hope you'll join me on this journey of grief, love, and healing <3

The sun beat down on Aziraphale’s forehead and she wished she’d worn a sun hat. It was a remarkably sunny day for May in Tadfield, England, and Aziraphale found herself sitting on a folding chair in a field behind Tadfield’s only school, where a graduation ceremony would soon be held. She was, at present, by herself in the field, save for a few other family members, several administrators, and management folks. 

Aziraphale was in this particular field, on this particular sunny afternoon, at this particular graduation, because her godson, Adam, was one of that day’s graduates. 

She was alone because she’d arrived exceptionally early in order to beat Antonia Crowley, Adam’s other godmother, to the ceremony. Her plan had been to arrive early, save several seats for Adam’s parents and grandparents (and Crowley), and secure herself a seat on the end of a row. This would allow her to avoid sitting next to Crowley in awkward silence, reminiscent of their past. 

(They’d not had many awkward silences recently, but that was only because Aziraphale had moved away from Tadfield to avoid them. She tried not to focus on how much of her existence centered around avoiding her ex-wife.)

Soon, around the same time Aziraphale became certain she had developed a raging sunburn, other people started to arrive, including Adam’s family, the Youngs. Aziraphale’s mood, which had been weighed down with thoughts of seeing Crowley, brightened when she saw the lovely Deirdre Young, and she felt twenty-two again, as she had been when the two of them had met near the end of university. Deirdre made her way towards Aziraphale while Adam’s father and grandparents took their seats.

“Deirdre, dear! How are you?” she crooned at her old friend, standing and pulling the other woman into a hug. 

Deirdre hugged Aziraphale back and then pulled away and smiled. “Doing wonderfully, save for missing you at all our family events.”

Aziraphale smiled too, but it was strained. For the last seven years, since Aziraphale had moved away from Tadfield all the way to London, Deirdre had been trying to get Aziraphale to attend one of her garden parties or one of Adam’s birthday parties, but Aziraphale had always declined, saying it would be much better if she wasn’t there bringing the whole party down. Instead, she saw Adam when his family visited London once every few months. 

No, Aziraphale hadn’t even stepped foot in Tadfield in the past three years, and the last time she was there had only been to pick up a particularly lovely first edition Austen from an older gentleman who didn’t have a car to come to her. 

Deirdre saw the pain in Aziraphale’s eyes and patted her on the arm. “But we’re so very glad you’re here now, dear. Adam will be ever so glad to see you. I’m sure he’ll want to introduce you to his eccentric group of friends. They’ve all got such interesting names, I’ll tell you! I think one girl actually has Moonchild as one of her middle names. And Crowley, well-” 

She stopped herself when she realized what she’d said. “Sorry. I know you don’t like talking about her, but she’ll be here this afternoon and you’re bound to cross paths. It’s not a very big school, so there’s not many places to hide.” 

Aziraphale flinched at this. 

“She talks about you, you know,” Deirdre added quietly. 

“Please don’t, Dee. This is hard enough as it is. Today is about Adam and how hard he’s worked,” Aziraphale managed to say. “I don’t want to take away from that with our personal problems. I’m so very proud of him, by the way” 

Deirdre nodded. “Of course. Shall we sit? It should be starting soon.”

When the pair sat down, Aziraphale perched on the end of the row, as she’d planned, Deirdre next to her, and then her husband and his parents. Crowley still hadn’t arrived, but that was typical behavior for her. The knowledge that Crowley hadn’t suddenly become punctual comforted Aziraphale slightly. 

The ceremony began with a man, presumably someone important in the school, speaking about how proud he was of his graduates, but Aziraphale barely noticed. Instead she was staring at a slim, pale, black-clad, red-haired woman hovering on the edge of the field, looking positively lost. 

It was good to see Crowley again. It had been five years since the last time they’d been in the same room (or, in this case, field). The last time she’d seen Crowley had been an accident, actually. Crowley had been in London on plant-related business and she’d waltzed right into the sushi place where Aziraphale had been having supper. They’d locked eyes and hadn’t been able to avoid a short, stilted conversation. The wounds had been so fresh then, and neither Aziraphale nor Crowley were able to look at each other without seeing _Scarlett_. As quickly as possible, Crowley had ordered her food and skittered out of the restaurant. Aziraphale hadn’t been back to that place since. Sushi hadn’t tasted the same either after that.

Seeing Crowley now made Aziraphale want to look away, but she looked so lost, and none of the Youngs had noticed that she couldn’t find them in the crowd. It wouldn’t do to just leave Crowley standing alone any longer, so Aziraphale lifted her hand in a wave. Crowley noticed the motion and looked Aziraphale’s way. She blanched a little at seeing her ex-wife, but gave a nod and walked toward her anyway.

As Crowley came toward her, Aziraphale slowly realized her mistake. Crowley would have to slink past her to get to her seat. They were going to brush knees. She would get a whiff of Crowley’s perfume. Her whole plan was definitely backfiring. Why hadn’t she sat toward the middle of the row and left Crowley, who she’d known would be late, the seat on the end of the row? She watched Crowley approach and took a deep breath. This didn’t have to be a big deal. Oh, who was she kidding? She was seeing her ex-wife after five silent years. They were about to be closer than they’d been in over seven years, even if it would only be for a few brief seconds. 

Aziraphale steeled herself as Crowley got within a few feet of her. She glanced up at her ex and caught Crowley boring a hole in Aziraphale’s head with her amber eyes, which weren’t covered with sunglasses that day, despite the blinding sunlight. Her gaze had hardened in the last several years, and Aziraphale could tell she was hiding years of pain. She was afraid her own eyes reflected a similar feeling, so she looked back down at her lap, crossing her ankles together to make room in front of herself for Crowley to squeeze past.

Startling Aziraphale’s gaze off the ground and back up at her, Crowley whispered, “Thank you, ’Ziraphale.”

Aziraphale’s breath caught in her throat and the only noise she was able to make in return came out sounding like _mrgh_. Perfect. The noise was fitting in a strange, the-tables-have-turned kind of way, since Crowley always used to be the one making nonsensical sounds in Aziraphale’s general direction.

Crowley finally found her seat, saved for her by Adam’s grandfather, and the rest of the ceremony went off without much excitement (except of course, for the part where Adam received his diploma, at which point their whole group jumped up and started cheering for the young man).

When the commencement finished, Aziraphale waited with the rest of Adam’s family until the new graduate was released by the administrators on stage. Aziraphale snuck a look at Crowley, who was staring at a little girl in the row in front of them, about four years old. Crowley couldn’t seem to take her eyes off the little girl in her puffy pink dress and plastic princess heels. Aziraphale tore her own eyes away from Crowley and the girl, trying to keep herself together. 

Adam finally joined them in the slowly clearing field, and he hugged each member of his family enthusiastically, finally getting to Aziraphale. 

“Hey! Thanks for coming! I know it’s har- never mind. Anyway I really appreciate you being here in person!”

“Of course, dear boy. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. I’m so very proud of you and all you’ve accomplished these past years.”

Adam’s eyes darted around for a second, seemingly deciding whether or not to say something before he spoke again.

“We all miss you, Aziraphale. Really, Mom is always saying how she wishes her best friend lived closer. Even Grandma misses you dearly, though that’s probably because she says no one makes tea quite like yours.” He lowered his voice, “But Crowley misses you the most. She hides it pretty well, but when she thinks no one is looking, she gets all like, vacant, like she’s missing something. And for some reason, she can’t be in the same room with Pepper’s little sister for more than five minutes, and I thought she used to love kids.”

Aziraphale winced. “I’m sure this is difficult for everyone, but it was for the best that I left, Adam. Please, this day is about you.” She tried to brush past the comment about Crowley and young children, and thankfully Adam let her.

He rolled his eyes. “If you say so. Are you coming to dinner with us? We’re going to Madame Tracy’s!” 

The urge to turn down the offer was strong. Aziraphale hadn’t planned on spending any more time in Crowley’s vicinity, but the pull of Madame Tracy’s delectable crêpes, and the feeling that she owed Adam not to run away home after one conversation won out. 

“Yes, I think that would be agreeable.”

* * *

The Youngs decided to walk to Madame Tracy’s since it was only a few blocks away from Adam’s school. Deirdre and Arthur led the group, each with an arm around Adam’s waist as he shuffled along, and his grandparents tottered along joyfully behind them. That left Crowley and Aziraphale to decide between walking side by side or single file. Aziraphale didn’t want to walk next to Crowley and risk their hands brushing, or worse, a _conversation_ , but she also wasn’t one to be rude, so she fell into step alongside Crowley. 

The other woman didn’t acknowledge that Aziraphale had begun walking next to her, but half a block later, she cleared her throat and said, “The oak, in the back garden? It’s taller than the house now.” 

Aziraphale didn’t know how to reply to that. She almost didn’t think Crowley was talking to her, except there was clearly no one else within earshot of the quiet tone Crowley had taken. A moment later than would have been appropriate in polite conversation, Aziraphale responded. 

“Is that right? My, they really do shoot up, don’t they.”

She tried valiantly to avoid thinking about Crowley still living alone in their old cottage (it was both old because Aziraphale had previously lived there, and old in age), but failed miserably. She imagined Crowley sitting alone in their _(no, her)_ living room, perhaps on one of those new-agey, uncomfortable couches she’d always jokingly threatened to buy, and watching reruns of _The Golden Girls_. Crowley probably drank alone on that lovely back porch they’d had built and admired her garden. Unwisely, she let herself wonder if Crowley had had the courage to dismantle the nursery and sell the bassinet. Aziraphale teared up a bit at this thought and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. 

Crowley thankfully didn’t seem to notice. “Yeah, they sure do. Just like kids- I mean- Adam. That’s the kid I mean. He’s, um, tall now, you know.” 

"Mmm, uhuh. Tall, yes," Aziraphale managed. She took a breath. "He's quite smart, too. Going to go far, that one." 

Crowley nodded. "How're the books, then?" she asked, the first personal question in such a long time.

Unfortunately this was not the question Aziraphale wanted to hear, because the answer wasn't something she wanted to mention. But what else could she say, except the truth? "Had to sell a good few of them after we- after I moved."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I could've-"

"No, you couldn't have. You know what I said," Aziraphale cut her off. Crowley was referring to money. Aziraphale had been very steadfast during their divorce that they split their money down the middle, since they'd both been about equal earners during their marriage. Crowley had not liked this, and had wanted to give Aziraphale as much money as possible to make sure she was taken care of. Aziraphale had not allowed it. Her lawyer had thought it was probably the only time she'd ever had to fight someone's spouse to give her client _less_ money. 

"Right. My bad," Crowley replied, ducking her head a little.

Aziraphale tried to give Crowley a break and steered the conversation in another direction. "Is your shop doing well, then?"

Crowley glanced over at her. "Yeah, s'alright. People always need plants, I guess. I hired Newt full time. He's an idiot, I trust you remember, but he's a good kid, and can manage deliveries well enough."

The group reached the restaurant moments later. Arthur opened the door and they started filing in, but Crowley called ahead. "I'll be right in, just need a smoke." She looked pleadingly at Aziraphale, asking her to stay outside.

Aziraphale nodded her agreement, and ignored Adam's call of, "Why didn't you have a cigarette on the way over here?" She was rather too focused on the fact that Crowley had taken up smoking, apparently.

Crowley beckoned Aziraphale to join her beside the entrance to Madame Tracy's. "I don't smoke, so you can lose the face,” Crowley said with a small smirk.

She only realized her face was screwed up when Crowley mentioned it. She relaxed it into a questioning expression. "If you don't smoke, then…"

"Why are we out here?"

"Yeah.”

"Because sometimes I just need a moment."

Aziraphale very much knew what Crowley meant. It was, at times, quite difficult to be around other people's great joy when there was such a deep gash in her own heart. But why would Crowley want Aziraphale to join her for her breather?

Crowley answered the question without being asked. "No one else knows how it feels, Zira." 

“I know." 

They stood there together on the pavement, Crowley's hands in her pockets and Aziraphale's clasped around her middle. Neither of them said anything else, and a few minutes later, after about the time it took to have a cigarette, they wordlessly entered the building together. 

Dinner was delectable, as Madame Tracy's had always been. Aziraphale felt slightly more relaxed after her and Crowley's moment outside, but she still was grateful that the two seats left at the table weren't next to each other. 

After the meal, it was nearing eight o'clock. Aziraphale wasn't looking forward to the drive home because she knew she'd have to drive in the dark a bit, which didn't thrill her. 

Crowley must have seen her checking her watch as the group moseyed back to the school, because she said quietly, "You can stay at my place, if you like." 

Aziraphale was rather surprised by the offer, and she didn't quite know how to respond. 

The other woman continued quickly, "You wouldn't be imposing. I have room. And you can be out of there early tomorrow and get home safe. I just know how much you dislike driving in the dark."

Touched that Crowley remembered, Aziraphale found herself agreeing to stay the night at her ex-wife's house and sleep on her likely very uncomfortable sofa. 

When Aziraphale, Crowley, and the Young family reached the school, they said their goodbyes and congratulations to Adam, and Aziraphale promised to see them next month. Aziraphale and Crowley were soon left alone, and Crowley gestured across the parking lot toward her vintage Bentley. 

"I'm over there. Do you want to meet me at the house?"

She didn't have to ask if Aziraphale remembered where to go. Perhaps it was quite obvious on Aziraphale's face that she remembered the small winding road that led to the cottage all too well. 

"Sure. See you in a few minutes," Aziraphale said, and walked over and got in her car. 

This was probably a very bad idea.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale joins Crowley at the cottage they used to share, and some feelings are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented and took interest in this story! I hope this next chapter holds up.
> 
> Thanks to LeilaKalomi for the beta!

Knowing she could make the drive was one thing, but actually doing it was much more emotionally taxing than Aziraphale had imagined. She realized belatedly that she would have to pass through the small town she used to call home. 

Crowley's lovely little plant and flower shop was first on her way to the cottage. The quaint little building brought back a wave of memories, both happy and sad. Aziraphale remembered the day Crowley had purchased the building. She hadn't told Aziraphale she was going to do it, and had instead decided to surprise her, which Aziraphale had enjoyed immensely. They'd gone out for dinner afterwards to celebrate. Aziraphale remembered showing up at the shop with lunch every few days and catching Crowley speaking softly to one of her plants. She remembered stopping by the shop to water the plants because Crowley had been too distraught to leave the house the day they found out Scarlett’s mum had decided not to give up her daughter. She also remembered storming out of the shop after one too many arguments. 

Aziraphale thought that maybe the happy memories should have outweighed the sad, after seven years, but there was no comparison to the pain of _almost_ becoming a mother. 

Next, she passed the Tadfield Community Theatre, where she and Crowley had seen many children's plays, and where Aziraphale had even tried her hand at Shakespeare. To Aziraphale’s great delight, Crowley had somehow convinced the whole town to attend their production of _Hamlet_. 

Across the street was a small park with a duck pond where they’d gone for their first date. Crowley had been new in town, and Aziraphale had seen her looking a bit lost, seated near the back of Madame Tracy’s. Aziraphale had approached her table, and when Crowley looked up, Aziraphale found herself immediately smitten. The rest was history. Now, she supposed, it was ancient history.

The most painful place to drive past was the shop formerly known as A.Z. Fell and Co. It was a pet store now, Aziraphale noticed. She smirked mirthlessly, thinking that the pet store probably did more for the community than her stuffy old bookshop, especially since she’d only sold about one book per week. It had been her passion project, though, and seeing it decorated with posters in the windows advertising the animals up for adoption brought tears to her eyes. 

Aziraphale was the owner of a bookshop in London now, but she constantly compared it to this one, and it never held up. Sure, it had grown on her over the years, but she still mourned the loss of those books she’d had to sell and the cozy shop she’d called her own here in Tadfield.

* * *

Arriving at the house, Aziraphale parked in what had been the spot for guests some years ago when they’d both lived there. She'd beaten Crowley there, and she knew she should probably just sit in her car and wait for her host, but she couldn't resist getting out and walking softly down the path to the wooden bench in the front garden. 

Suddenly, Aziraphale was transported to another time, so many years ago, when Crowley had proposed. They'd been sitting on this very bench, though at the time, the bench had been living at Tadfield’s park, and Crowley had gotten down on one knee, holding a bouquet of flowers and a ring. She'd told Aziraphale how much she loved her, and they'd kissed deeply, and that had been the beginning of a beautiful marriage. (Until it wasn't beautiful anymore, Aziraphale reminded herself.)

Crowley arrived several minutes later, sliding her Bentley into the driveway at an alarming speed. Aziraphale was glad she hadn't hitched a ride since it seemed that Crowley's driving had unfathomably worsened in the passing years. She got out of the car, a bottle of wine in hand, and headed toward the door, belatedly noticing Aziraphale sitting in the garden. Crowley backtracked slightly and walked down the garden path to stand awkwardly in front of the bench. 

"Um," she started, "do you...want to come in? I mean you can stay out here. You don’t have to… Sorry. This is strange."

Aziraphale had always loved when Crowley got flustered. Her awkward rambles were endearing in Aziraphale’s eyes. God, it had been so long since she’d seen Crowley flustered for a positive reason. 

Remembering herself, Aziraphale nodded. This was probably the strangest experience she'd had in a long time. How did one navigate a relationship with one's ex? Aziraphale didn't have much practice with that sort of thing, mostly because she and Crowley hadn't said practically anything to each other over the years. (There was also the fact that Aziraphale hadn’t been in a proper relationship since her split from Crowley.)

She stood up. "Yes. Coming." They walked up to the house and Crowley let them in. 

Aziraphale almost let out a sob when she stepped inside. Most people don't really notice that their house has a certain smell, since they smell it every day, but if you've been deprived of the scent of home for seven years, it can hit you quite hard. 

Crowley glanced behind her and noticed Aziraphale's shining eyes. She pursed her lips and turned away. "I'll give you a second, I guess."

A whimper was all Aziraphale was able to manage. Crowley walked across the living room and into the kitchen. The house had changed and at the same time, it hadn't. Crowley had indeed acquired a new sofa after Aziraphale took theirs to London, but it looked quite comfortable instead of the angular, rock-hard couch Aziraphale had imagined. The art on the walls was very much the same, mostly plant themed. But what caused Aziraphale the most pain was a little end table in the corner near a lovely fern. The table held several books, some chachkies, a cactus in a small pot, and a few loose papers and envelopes. Aziraphale recognized all of it. In fact, it all had to do with her: gifts they’d given each other and other trinkets pertaining to their relationship. 

She walked slowly over to the table and reached out to touch a worn copy of _Sense and Sensibility_. It wasn’t a first edition or anything, but it had been Aziraphale’s childhood copy of the book. Without opening it, she could remember the inscription she’d penned to Crowley: _To the one who made it all worthwhile_. The cactus had been a gift from Crowley to her for their first wedding anniversary. It was currently thriving and had nearly tripled in size since she’d seen it last. Aziraphale had left the cactus behind in a moment of emotion, claiming she didn’t trust herself to take care of it in London. Now, she’d give just about anything to have a keepsake from their marriage to keep alive. Up close, she noticed a pair of earrings still on their plastic hanger. Aziraphale didn't recognize the earrings, but everything else pulled on her heartstrings. She even knew exactly what was in the envelopes: letters she’d written to Crowley at different important moments in their lives. 

Crowley returned to the living room so quietly that Aziraphale didn’t notice her presence until she spoke.

"I couldn't bear to get rid of any of it."

Aziraphale turned around to face her. This confession, rather this whole situation, was not what she’d expected. She had one pressing question (among several others dancing around her head), which she thought she knew the answer to, but she needed to hear it said aloud. "And the earrings?"

Crowley coughed a little. "Bought them for you before it all blew up,” she murmured. "Didn't get a chance to give them to you. Everything went to shite too fast. Sorry if this is too much. Didn't really plan on inviting you back today, or I would’ve put those things away.”

Turning back to the table, Aziraphale ran her finger over an ancient ticket from the first production of _The Nutcracker_ they'd attended together. Without looking at her (because how could she look at Crowley right now?) Aziraphale spoke again. "You- You kept all of it. And you displayed it. You must look at this table every day. Why, Crowley? Why would you want that?" 

When she finally tore her gaze away from the table and turned around, Crowley’s eyes were wet. “It wasn’t all bad, was it? We had our good times. I try to remember them. Helps distract from the bad. Scarlett haunts me every day, and she’s not even dead, and I couldn’t do this without you, so...there you are. On a shelf.” She wiped a stray tear off her cheek. “Anyway, enough of that. Wine? We’re celebrating, after all.”

“Celebrating?” She couldn’t possibly address the rest of Crowley’s ramble.

“Yeah, our godson’s a graduate now. He’s going out into the world. University, and all.”

“Right. Celebrating. He’s a good one, our Adam.”

Crowley hummed in agreement. “Well, wine’s this way,” she said, gesturing toward the kitchen. Aziraphale briefly wondered if Crowley was going to set them up to drink at the kitchen island, but instead she led Aziraphale through the kitchen and onto the back porch. 

Since it was spring, the garden was absolutely thriving, and it took Aziraphale’s breath away. Crowley set out two glasses next to the bottle on a quaint wooden table in the middle of the porch. She sat on one side, leaving the other seat available for Aziraphale. Crowley poured them each half a glass and gently clinked her’s with Aziraphale’s.

“To Adam,” she said, and took a drink, “and to what might have been.” She finished by taking a second sip, larger than the first. 

Aziraphale swallowed her tears with a gulp of wine. She wondered if Crowley realized how painful that second toast had been for Aziraphale to hear. Perhaps. Maybe she got lost in the moment, the two of them sitting together in the beautiful garden. Maybe she wanted to hurt Aziraphale (doubtful, but Aziraphale barely knew this hardened version of Crowley). Either way, getting upset wouldn’t do any good at this point. 

Managing to keep herself under control, Aziraphale looked around the yard. There were flowers of all kinds planted close to each other, the blooms kissing each other gently. A smile briefly crossed Aziraphale’s face as she imagined Crowley hard at work, talking to all her plants and helping her garden to thrive. Crowley had clearly taken up woodworking, because there were a few chairs and a table that were well-constructed, but looked amateur-made, as well as a large tree stump with an axe stuck into it. The oak was indeed quite a bit taller than last time she’d seen it, and there was now a beautiful wooden porch swing hanging from one of the lower branches. It really was a beautiful sight, and Aziraphale was glad for it since it gave her plausible deniability for why she wasn’t looking at Crowley right now. 

Crowley sat silently across the table, but Aziraphale could practically hear the gears turning in her head and could almost feel the questions buzzing on her tongue. Aziraphale rather thought she should be the one with questions. Why on earth had Crowley invited her to stay the night at her house? Why now, after so many years, were they finally talking? What the hell was she going to wear to bed? (The last question was logically much less important than the first two, but it wouldn’t stop poking at her brain.)

Surprising Aziraphale, Crowley spoke first. “You never visit.”

What was Aziraphale supposed to say to that? No, she hadn’t visited, but Crowley hadn’t visited London, either. Who the hell visits their ex-wife?

She decided to continue very delicately, lest she allow Crowley to see through the hefty brick walls around her heart. “I…I didn’t really think it was appropriate. We decided you would stay in Tadfield and I would move to London. I thought it was understood that I wasn’t going to come back to Tadfield very much. “

Crowley took a long drink. “How can someone as brilliant as you be so stupid, Aziraphale? I never meant you couldn’t come visit the fucking town where you spent most of your adult life. That’s insane. What kind of person would say that?” Her temper seemed easy to ignite, easier than it used to be. 

“Sorry I—I suppose you didn’t say that, no.”

Before Aziraphale could come up with another excuse for why she generally avoided visiting Tadfield, Crowley spoke again, stiltedly. “I hoped you would.”

Aziraphale wondered if she’d been transported to an alternate universe where they regularly had emotional conversations. If Crowley had wanted to see her, why hadn’t she said anything? Anything at all. Over the last seven years. 

“Of course,” continued Crowley, “I never thought you’d want to visit _me_ , but I always hoped you would come visit the Youngs, and I could catch a glimpse of you from the corner of the room behind some plant or something. God, that sounds pathetic when I say it out loud. I don’t know why I’m even fucking speaking right now so I’m going to shut up.” She brought her wine glass back up to her lips, seemingly trying to convince her mouth to stop running. 

Aziraphale almost wanted to smile. So, Crowley had missed her. She’d wanted to reach out, but didn’t. This was surprising, but not unbelievable. Crowley showed the utmost respect for Aziraphale, even during the divorce, and if she thought Aziraphale didn’t want any contact with her, then she wouldn’t have reached out. 

She’d missed Crowley as well, but she couldn’t think of a similarly concealed way of saying it back. 

But this wasn’t really about who missed whom. This was just one woman showing another woman a touch of kindness after seven years of silence. Aziraphale wasn’t sure how to receive the kindness while keeping a lid on any feelings that wanted to boil over. If any feelings spilled out, she didn’t think she could get them all back in the pot, and it could ruin any semblance of normalcy that she’d cultivated over the years. 

It had been far too long since anyone had said anything, and Aziraphale was yet to respond to Crowley’s admission. 

“I was scared,” she said quietly, the words slipping out involuntarily. 

Oh. That wasn’t what she’d meant to say. Not even remotely. She was supposed to be reining this conversation in so she could keep her composure. At least what she’d said could be interpreted in a few different ways. 

Crowley either only picked up on one reason Aziraphale would be scared to see her, or chose the safest one. “I know what you mean. Sometimes it’s scary living in a world without her. Well, she’s in the world, but she’s somewhere else, obviously. Seeing you that one time did hurt, but I was feeling that pain anyway. I wish we hadn’t—I wish we could’ve—”

_Don’t say it, don’t say it, I can’t think about how much I wish that too_.

Crowley was practically removing the damn lid from Aziraphale’s pot herself, and Aziraphale was terrified of what might emerge. 

“I have to go to the toilet,” she announced in what she was sure was much too loud of a voice. 

With that, she got up from the table and half-jogged back inside the cottage. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying to get to sleep doesn't go as well as Aziraphale planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to leila again for the beta! 
> 
> The only warning for this chapter that I haven't listed in the tags is a brief mention of Crowley not eating much while Aziraphale isn't around, though we do see her eat here.

Aziraphale stood in front of the porcelain sink she and Crowley had chosen together and stared into the pristine mirror that hung above it. 

“Get it together,” she whispered to her reflection. “You are not going to fall apart even if you—“

If she was in Crowley’s vicinity for much longer, she was going to reveal something she regretted. Something that she might feel deep in her heart, but that wasn’t supposed to see the light of day ever again. At this point, the question was how long she could hide in this toilet before Crowley would track her down and coax her out.

The answer was not very long. Moments later, Crowley softly knocked on the door.

“’Ziraphale? I’ve got something you can sleep in, if you like.”

Aziraphale opened the door, just as Crowley began rambling about how Aziraphale was welcome to leave at any time if she wanted, and how she could always stay at the Tadfield Inn, and how Crowley would pay for it.

She silenced Crowley with a firm “thank you” and took the shirt from her. It was Crowley’s oversized _Queen_ shirt. Aziraphale remembered the way it used to hang off Crowley’s shoulders. This wouldn’t be the first time Aziraphale borrowed that shirt. 

Crowley almost smiled, but apparently thought better of it. “You can stay in the guest bedroom. Let me know if you need anything, I guess.” 

She started to turn away, but before she could make a full one-eighty, Aziraphale was enveloping her in a tight bear hug. Both women tensed as Aziraphale’s fingers made contact with the back of Crowley’s neck and her forehead fell onto Crowley’s shoulder. After what had possibly been the longest ten seconds in the history of the universe, Crowley’s hands rose and gently settled themselves on Aziraphale’s lower back. 

Aziraphale knew she shouldn’t have jumped into Crowley’s arms in the hallway outside the bathroom, or anywhere really, but at that moment, it felt like the best choice she’d ever made. 

It took a very conscious effort not to breathe deeply while her face was pressed into Crowley’s shirt. The hug was quite stiff and didn’t feel at all the way she remembered, but Aziraphale was still hesitant to let go. In the end, Crowley was the one to release her hands from Aziraphale’s back, careful not to touch any other part of Aziraphale as they disconnected from the hug. 

“Good night, Crowley. And thank you,” she held up the shirt, “this was very nice of you.”

Crowley ducked her head. Was that a blush dusting her cheeks?

“‘M not nice. Just the decent thing to do. Night.” She scurried off down the hall and around the corner, leaving Aziraphale fighting the urge to chase after her. 

No. It didn’t matter if Crowley had been blushing. It was probably some kind of residual feeling that was completely involuntary. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. There was really no use considering all the evidence that suggested Crowley’s feelings for her had never been completely squashed. 

As Aziraphale shuffled down the hall toward the guest room, she thought that if someone was being clear-headed, they would see that the table of trinkets and mementos just illustrated Crowley’s fondness for cacti and tacky decorations. The soft touch of Crowley’s hands on her back were just those of a cordial ex-wife—perhaps one day, a friend. The longing in her eyes was for a life long gone and impossible to salvage. 

She twisted the doorknob to what she thought was her room for the night, but quickly realized she was in the wrong place. The room she’d actually entered had once been decorated as a nursery for Scarlett. Now, when she turned on the light, she could see that the walls were painted black and dark curtains were drawn across the windows. Tears came to Aziraphale’s eyes as she noticed the easel standing in the middle of the room on top of an old bedsheet, next to a table with what looked like hundreds of tubes of paint strewn across it. 

She was unable to hold back a sob. The painting currently on display was of her. It was breathtaking. Crowley had somehow captured both what Aziraphale looked like when she smiled and the emptiness she felt beneath the surface. Taking a step into the room, she noticed that there were several more paintings of her propped up against a few of the walls. There was one of her crying, with her tears watering a beautiful bed of tulips. Another depicted her as an angel with huge white wings. There were also a number of paintings which appeared to be self-portraits. Crowley apparently saw herself as very dark and demonic. A few canvases were covered with paintings of a young girl. They were all done in red, but all the happiness of childhood shown through. Aziraphale bit her lip because she knew the little girl had to be Scarlett. The last painting that caught Aziraphale’s eye was more abstract, and it depicted beautiful red swirls being overtaken by a dark, black expanse. Aziraphale felt like she could see directly into Crowley’s heart through this painting. She, too, knew what it was like to have her life and happiness taken hostage by a dark depression. 

This was private. She should not be in this room, she realized, and backed away, taking one last chance to make eye contact with the painting on the easel which continued fake-smiling back at her. Flicking off the light and closing the door, Aziraphale managed to take her first deep breath in several minutes. She quickly realized that she very urgently needed to sit down, so she stumbled back the way she’d come and opened the door to the correct room. Aziraphale came in contact with the bed just in time, collapsing on the soft duvet and finally letting the tears flow freely. 

* * *

Aziraphale woke some time later and found herself laying on top of the duvet in her clothes and shoes. Looking at her phone, she realised she hadn’t been asleep for more than an hour. That was probably good, seeing as she needed to wear these clothes tomorrow, and it wouldn’t do to be wrinkly. 

Still a bit sleepy, Aziraphale turned on the light and changed out of her skirt and blouse and into Crowley’s _Queen_ t-shirt. She decided to leave her Spanx on since she didn’t want to be caught in her pants if she had to run to the loo in the night. 

After flipping off the light, she tucked herself up in bed, but sleep was nowhere to be found. Her mind was full of far too many thoughts. Thoughts of Crowley lying alone in the bed they used to share. Thoughts of the room that would have been Scarlett’s being haunted by the ghosts of a past life, long dead. Thoughts of love letters sitting on display in the sitting room. Thoughts of Jammie Dodgers…

Her stomach growled aggressively, and Aziraphale remembered it had been hours since dinner and decided she was hungry for a late-night snack. It seemed as if she had no hope of going to sleep in this room any time soon, so she might as well go get something to eat.

The kitchen, it turned out, was not as well stocked as it had been when Aziraphale lived here. Luckily she was able to find a package of cream crackers that were only a little bit expired. She sat down at one of the stools at the kitchen island and opened her crackers. 

No sooner had she eaten a bite than Crowley silently appeared in the kitchen as well. 

“Hungry,” Crowley said, as an explanation for her presence. She procured two slices of bread and started slathering them with peanut butter and jam, a habit she’d picked up during her time in America in her twenties. 

Aziraphale looked up at her. “I still don’t understand the appeal of those dreadful sandwiches. Jam is so scrumptious, there’s no need to sully it with _peanut butter_.” 

Crowley smiled widely as she took a bite that was far too large for her mouth. 

“Oh, you haven’t changed a bit, have you?” Aziraphale asked, rolling her eyes. It was nice to banter with Crowley like old times. 

In response, Crowley only shrugged and continued chewing furiously, as if she hadn’t had a meal in the last year. Clearly, with the amount of food in this house, that was a possibility. 

“So, couldn’t sleep then?” asked Crowley when she’d finished off the last of her sandwich.

Aziraphale hesitated. She didn’t know how honest she should be. After a moment, she decided that they’d been through enough, and she might as well tell the truth. If Crowley was cross because Aziraphale snooped, then Aziraphale would be able to drive away from any unpleasantness come morning. 

“I…saw the paintings. It was an accident, I swear! Wrong door, you see.” 

Crowley opened her mouth, but didn’t utter a word. The silence that followed was quieter than seven years of not speaking. It might have lasted just as long. For a very long moment, it seemed like Crowley was preparing to jump out the kitchen window and never return, but eventually she snapped her mouth shut, her teeth slamming together in a manner that had to have been painful. When she reopened her mouth, all that came out was, “Fuck.”

Aziraphale almost replied with “Rather,” but decided against it, waiting instead for Crowley to offer some kind of explanation. 

The explanation did finally come after Crowley filled up a glass of water from the sink and downed the whole thing in one go.

“S’ how I deal.”

Okay, so it was a brief explanation. Aziraphale did not feel as if she understood any better than before. When it appeared that Crowley wasn’t going to continue, she asked.

“Do you really see me as an angel?” 

Crowley coughed. “I…well—I mean, you’re no demon…” she tried. 

“And you are?” countered Aziraphale. She found herself wanting to defend Crowley to Crowley herself.

Crowley’s glare was dark; her light amber eyes seemed to be filled with a raging storm. “Well, I don’t know, I—I can paint whatever I want, Aziraphale.”

Remembering the paintings of Scarlett, Aziraphale tried to offer an olive branch. “I miss her too, Crowley.” 

“I looked her up once,” Crowley blurted out, then looked rather guilty, as if she hadn’t meant to share this particular piece of information. Aziraphale’s questioning gaze encouraged Crowley to continue. “Looked up her mom on Facebook. Her page is private, but they seem happy in her profile picture.” She cleared her throat. “The mum’s still so young, but I like to think she’s taking good care of Scarlett—well, she’s actually called Michaela now.” Crowley was becoming rapidly choked up. Her mind seemed very far away from the kitchen. “They have a dog. We could’ve had—“ The tears finally won out and Crowley started sobbing uncontrollably into her hand. 

Aziraphale didn’t hesitate. She immediately got up from her stool and rushed to Crowley’s side, peeling her hand away from her face and guiding Crowley’s body into her arms. 

An hour ago, Aziraphale would have found this embrace far too intimate for them, but when Crowley was crying, she simply had to comfort her. Crowley cried into Aziraphale’s shoulder for several minutes and the whole time Aziraphale rubbed back gently in a way that had calmed her down in the past.

When Crowley stopped crying, she pulled back and wiped her nose on a kitchen towel. Without removing the towel from in front of her mouth or looking at Aziraphale, Crowley mumbled something that sounded like a question.

“Sorry, I couldn’t quite catch that.” 

Crowley huffed and gently tossed the towel on the counter. She still wasn’t looking at Aziraphale when she spoke again. “I said, d’you wanna come to bed with me?”

Aziraphale was filled with several Big Emotions. First, she was struck with the memory of how it felt to sleep next to Crowley and how much she longed to feel it again. Shortly after, she was accosted by Crowley’s word choice and became concerned that Crowley wanted her to _come to bed_ in a metaphorical sense as well. 

Crowley must’ve seen the confusion on her face when she finally looked up, because she snorted quietly. “Not for anything _untoward_ , ‘Ziraphale. Just, you couldn’t sleep and I couldn’t sleep. Could be a mutually beneficial arrangement if we kept each other company tonight. Ugh, not in that way! Fuck, I can’t keep my foot out of my mouth.” 

Aziraphale gave a watery laugh, which Crowley returned. This was probably another bad decision on top of a stack of bad decisions Aziraphale had made today, but really, what was one more? Besides, Crowley clearly needed company right now.

“Yes, dear, I think we could share your bed tonight. Maybe a change of scenery will help me get some sleep.”

* * *

A change of scenery, it turned out, did not make Aziraphale feel any more like sleeping. In fact, she teared up again at the sight of the bedroom they used to share. Crowley held out her hand, and when Aziraphale took it carefully, Crowley gave a gentle squeeze. 

As she let herself be slowly led toward the bed, Aziraphale glanced around the room. It was largely unchanged since she’d last seen it, though the number of plants occupying the dresser had doubled. This room was positioned to receive a lot of sun, so the plants looked happy. Where there had once hung a set of photos from their wedding, there was now one of Crowley’s paintings. This one depicted two trees. One was large, dead, and diseased and looked at risk of falling over at any moment. Next to it was a small sapling bursting through the ground, trying desperately to reach the sun. 

It seemed best not to dwell on the significance of that particular piece of art. Instead, Aziraphale brought her focus back to Crowley, who had stopped at the right side of the bed, the side that Crowley had slept on during their marriage. She let go of Aziraphale’s hand and gestured for her to get in bed. 

“Isn’t this—“

Crowley cut her off quickly. “I switched sides when you left. “

“Did you? But you were so—

“Crushed when you left? Tired of looking at the empty spot where you should’ve been? Yeah. Figured I’d rather stare at my spot than yours and then it just stuck, I guess.” 

By the look on her face, this was more than Crowley had intended to share. She’d been _crushed_? Fuck. 

If Aziraphale slept on the right side tonight, she wondered, wouldn’t that cause Crowley more pain tomorrow night when her spot was vacant? But Crowley was looking at her pleadingly, so she obliged and climbed into bed. 

It was a new mattress, which made sense. Their old one had been from before they’d gotten married. She sunk back into the pillows as Crowley turned off the overhead light and slid into the other side of the bed. Crowley scooted up the bed to lie beside Aziraphale. 

“Hi,” murmured Crowley. 

Her smile was lit by the moonlight streaming in through the window. She was beautiful. As beautiful as the first time Aziraphale had laid eyes on her. Aziraphale had to close her eyes to avoid being blinded. 

This was a terrible idea. Oh, lord. Aziraphale had to get out of here or she was going to—

And then Crowley was kissing her. Oh, she was kissing her like they were happy again. As if they hadn’t barely spoken for seven years. As if she still loved her.

No. Aziraphale couldn’t go there. They were not in love. Crowley was probably just lonely. In a very un-Aziraphale fashion, she forced herself to return to the present moment and enjoy the taste of Crowley’s soft lips, and to kiss her back. 

They kissed urgently for several minutes until they were both very much out of breath. Crowley eventually pulled away and flopped down on the pillows, with a small smile. 

“Well, that was a thing.”

“Crowley, I—“

Crowley cut her off. “Shh, try and get some sleep. We can talk in the morning.”

Aziraphale was glad Crowley had stopped her, because she wasn’t at all sure what she’d been about to say. There was something unpleasant stirring in Aziraphale’s stomach. She shouldn’t have let that happen. Now she would think of that kiss every night and she’d be an insomniac forever. 

She fell asleep some minutes later in a haze of lust and regret. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're getting somewhere, right?? Slowly but surely!

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warning: (please note, this is a minor spoiler for the next chapter where it will be further explained) Aziraphale and Crowley were set up to adopt a child, but the mother ended up not giving the child up, which affected them greatly. 
> 
> Leave me a comment if you've got the spoons, and I'm going to find the spoons to reply to the comments!
> 
> I'm miss-minnelli on tumblr :)


End file.
